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RPlog:The Day After
It's uncertain which wakes Paul first, the warm breeze against his face or the ever so slight hints of light which begin to streak the sky with gold and pink. Opening his eyes slowly, the first thing he sees is the sky - clouds reflecting the flames of the sun in tongues of amber and orange, blue and purple. He stares, confused for a second, not knowing where he is, but the soft weight of a woman against his chest and the auburn curls of hair that lay splayed across him bring the picture into focus. He smiles at the memory of the previous night and moving ever so gently, rises enough that he can look into Jessalyn's face. Jessalyn's eyes are still closed, her breathing soft as she sleeps. She lays huddled against Paul for warmth, her fingers curled against his chest, undisturbed by the gentle breeze or the light filtering down from the rising sun. For a moment he watches her sleep and then looks up to watch the sun glinting off the waves. He revels in the moment, the beauty of the nature around them and the woman at his side. His gaze drops back to her face and a tender smile curls his lips. Pulling an edge of the blanket over her for warmth he cranes his neck and places a light kiss at the corner of her mouth. Jessalyn's nose crinkles slightly at the tickling sensation at her mouth, and she lifts a hand to bat drowsily at the source. She murmurs in her sleep and nuzzles closer to Paul's chest. Paul chuckles at her attempt to shoo him away like a fly. Casting a glance at the lightening sky he sighs in disappointment. Wanting nothing more than to take her in his arms again and love her, he knows that the better side of discretion would have them heading home now. He leans over and kissing each eyelid murmurs softly, "Wake up sleepy, it's morning." Jessalyn murmurs again, something unintelligible, and her lashes slowly lift. She gazes up at him in surprise, then smiles, a faint flush traveling all the way across her cheeks to her ears. "Paul," she breathes, and reaches to touch his cheek. His smile deepens and he turns his head to drop a kiss into her palm. "Hi there," he purrs happily, "sleep well?" Jessalyn nods her disheveled head slightly. "Uh huh," she whispers, sounding much younger than her years. Her fingers curl around his cheek as he kisses it and she lets out a soft, forlorn sigh. He can't help himself, and catches her lips in a sweet kiss, just to have one last quick taste of her, his hand reaching up and touching lightly on her shoulder. Jessalyn returns the kiss as if it were the first, reaching around him and stroking her fingers over the nape of his neck. "Mmmm," she purrs against his lips as she allows her other hand to stray boldly across his waist. Allowing the kiss to deepen for a moment, Paul exalts in the sensations running through him at her touch. His hand captures her hand at his waist as his muscles begin to contract in reaction and reluctantly he draws away from her mouth with more than a hint of frustration and regret in his eyes. "As much as you want you right here and now," he murmurs huskily, "it's almost morning, and we'll be missed." The words strike home, draw her back to reality with a jolt, and she nearly goes white. "You're right..." she says hastily, as if coming out of a drunken haze. She pulls away from him, shivering, and reaches desperately for the discarded pile of clothing, looking embarrassed as she tries to pull on her shirt with trembling fingers. Paul sits up slowly and places easing hands on Jessalyn's shoulders. "Hey, slow down, it's alright ... it's only the crack of dawn, no need to rush." He rubs her upper arms soothingly, taking in her pinched and blanched features. "Jessa, we didn't do anything wrong," he murmurs softly, reassuringly. Jessalyn catches her breath, her chest heaving. "I didn't... I didn't say we did!" she stammers out, her cheeks now flaming red. She looks down at herself, frowning, and struggles back into her shirt, doing her best not to look at him. Paul frowns slightly and the reaching for her shirt, helps take it off, turning it right side out and then helps her slip it back on, doing the buttons back up the front. "Okay," he murmurs, "I just wasn't sure ... you looked upset and I thought that maybe you were having regrets or something ..." and his voice trails off uncomfortably, his eyes intent on the workings of his hands. Jessalyn looks a little uncomfortable at the closeness of his hands on her again. She gulps, and slowly lifts her hands to clasp over his, drawing them against her chest and holding them against the pounding of her heart. "I...Paul...." She blinks quickly, then bends her head, brushing her cheeks against his hands. Paul raises his gaze to hers, the green bursts around his pupils bright in the dawning light. His face grows warm as she graces his hands with the touch of her cheek. "Yes?" he replies in a husky voice. Not answering his query, Jessa merely brushes her lips against his hands again and again, hiding the tears that have welled in her eyes. Only when they begin to wet her cheeks and brush against his hand are they at all perceivable. But she doesn't look up as she moves closer to him, and only when the distance has been completely closed does she glance up, burying her face against the curve of his neck and releasing his hands to slide her arms around him. As the tears begin to wet his hands, Paul's gaze grows dark with concern. With a soft groan, Paul drags Jessalyn against him as she buries her face into his shoulder. "Oh, darling," he murmurs raggedly, "what? What is it?" He kisses the top of her head, his hands stroking her back soothingly. Jessalyn breathes raggedly, keeping tight hold of her composure as Paul pulls her against him. "You're leaving...all of you are. I'm afraid..." She clings to his shoulders, pulling back and looking up at him needfully, her eyes round and bright. "Paul," she moans, and leans up to kiss his cheeks repeatedly. Paul's senses reel at Jessalyn's onslaught, her fears and nerves striking a responsive chord within him. Moving his hands to bury them in her hair, he leads her mouth to his and feasts there. He releases her lips only briefly, to catch a breath now and then. Between these breaks he murmurs to her softly, only to kiss her again in punctuation of his statements. "It will be alright," he soothes with a kiss. "We won't be gone long." Another kiss. "I'll come back to you." And another kiss. Jessalyn takes the kisses hungrily, her eyes liquid with tears, her lips trembling and bruised from the pressure of his mouth. She merely nods her head, eyes closed, and pulls him desperately against her. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her lips barely moving with the words, but lifting up eagerly to find his again. He kisses her long and hard and then drawing away lays his face against her cheek, catching his breath and trying to still his desire. "What is there to be sorry for?" he asks breathlessly. Jessalyn gulps, turning her cheek to press her lips against his. "For -- for crying," she whispers, and tilts her head to force his lips back to hers again, cradling his face in her hands. Chuckling softly he kisses her tears away, murmuring, "That's okay," but when she urges his lips back to hers, his chuckle dies off and his hands begin to fumble again with her shirt, trying to take if off again, despite his earlier assertions. Jessalyn moans low in her throat as she tightens her hold on him almost painfully, pulling him with her as she collapses back onto the blanket again. "I know," she mumbles around another kiss... "you don't like it.. when I cry..." She whimpers, one hand racing hard down his back, fingernails grazing against Paul's spine. Arching spasmodically at the trace of her nails across his spine, Paul stares down at Jessalyn, his face flushed with passion. "I don't want you to be in pain," he rasps harshly. The gentle glow of dawn makes Jessalyn's flesh glow like pearl and amber, her hair like flames. His hands finish with the buttons of her shirt and he rips it open to watch the light play against her form. Then his gaze filling and darkening he growls, "Gods, but you are beautiful!" and descends to her again, filling his hands with her hair. Jessalyn's slender arms wrap about him tightly, her long-aching heart soaring at the words. "No," she insists helplessly. "It's just me. Just Jess." She kisses his hair, his forehead, his cheeks. "I can't help it.... I can't stop it..." she murmurs fretfully, almost soundlessly. fade to black The rest of this scene has been edited to protect the innocent. fade up from black Paul strokes Jessalyn's hair gently, his hands reducing to merely long soothing strokes, meant to relax and gentle. He focuses on relaxing both of them, closing his eyes and taking in deep breaths. Jessalyn struggles to control herself, a fierce battle, and the soothing touch against her hair helps to calm her battered emotions. After a very long time, she chokes off the last sob, sniffs, and raises her head to look at his face at last. Her hair is wild as it drifts around her face, over her shoulders, grazing against him; her eyes are half-closed and red-rimmed, making the shadowed forest green stand out even more in contrast. She leans forward enough to brush soft, bruised lips over his cheeks several times, sighing wearily. His eyes fluttering open at Jessalyn's movement and the brush of her hair, Paul takes in her face minutely. He stays still as her face descends to his and sighs softly at the touch of her lips. He raises a hand to her face, drawing the hair away from one side and watching her battered features with a hint of concern. "Jessa, are you alright, I didn't hurt you did I?" Jessalyn smiles faintly, nodding her head. "What a romantic thing to say," she remarks wryly, in a hoarse voice, and rests her hand at his cheek caressingly. "I'm all right." Paul chuckles softly and cups her face in his hands. "Sorry, how about - God, that was incredible ... which it was by the way." He smiles up at her and then touching the corners of her eyes asks, "So if you're alright, why do you look so sad?" Jessalyn lowers her lashes, suddenly embarrassed. She brushes the backs of her fingers against his cheek, her gaze focused now on his... chin. "I've been sad for a long time, Paul," she breathes. "It doesn't have anything to do with...." She trails off uncertainly, her eyes closing. "Sorry," he murmurs, "I didn't mean to press." He reaches up to touch her hand, drawing it away from his cheek to press a kiss to her fingertips. Jessalyn rests her cheek against his chest, taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry, too. I don't blame you for running away from me all those times, Paul. I know I'm a miserable wreck, and not easy to be around." "Well, you do take a lot of energy," he teases her with a tender smile on his lips. Then taking a deep breath he stares at the sky for awhile, taking in the golden hues that are slowly turning the sky from a purple to a blue, the stars pretty much completely gone now. Thoughtfully he replies, "I don't think I was running away so much from you as from myself ... I was beginning to care too much, and that's not something I have a lot of experience or confidence in." He stirs then and murmurs softly, "We better head back." Jessalyn lifts up on her elbows so that she can gaze down into his face. "I guess I have the opposite problem," she whispers, eyes glistening again, falling to rest longingly on his mouth, blinking quickly. But she nods at his words and rolls off him, shivering, and looks around for her scattered clothing. Paul rises slowly and begins to gather his own clothes and slip them on. He dresses silently allows himself sometime to gather his thoughts as to what is to come. Once he is dressed and ready he waits for Jessalyn patiently. Jessalyn says nothing while she fumbles into her clothes, and she remains silent as she pulls on her boots, her hands shaking, and clambers up to her feet. She tries to smooth back her hair as she forces an unnatural -- for her -- stony expression onto her stricken face. She glances at him, briefly, and nods. Paul walks toward Jessalyn and then placing his hands on her shoulders, her turns her so she is looking at the ocean, her back against his chest. "Breathe," he intones gently. "Just look at the water and breathe for a minute." Jessalyn closes her eyes against the sight, nodding her head. "I'm all right," she insists, her voice shaking, a thread of -what the hell was I thinking?- winding its way into her voice. She hears it, too, and stifles any more words from leaving her throat to betray her further. Paul hears it too and closes his eyes for a moment, but otherwise betrays nothing. Shaking her shoulders gently he repeats, "Jessalyn, I want you to look at the ocean and breathe, you are -not- all right, and pretending you are won't help." His hands knead the tensing muscles in her shoulders. "Trust me." Gazing at the ocean doesn't help; neither does taking deep steady breaths instead of the shallow hoarse ones that had been filling her lungs. But Jessalyn is used to that. She knows that there really is nothing that can help. Not even this last resort at forgetting has succeeded. She stares out at the ocean bitterly, hating herself and her emotions for betraying her, for being so out of control. "Oh, Paul," she breathes. "Forgive me. I used you..." At those words, Paul's frame stiffens noticeably. "Oh?" he manages to ask casually, but nothing else follows. Jessalyn hangs her head, ashamed, feeling her heart sinking deeper into the pit of her stomach. "I just want to forget... Paul, don't think that I...." She turns to face him, lifting her hands hesitantly to touch his arms. "Gods, I don't know what to say." Paul just stares down at her, the old wound opening sharply at her words, coloring his perceptions. Jessalyn's words don't make any sense to him and an unexpected hurt begins to well in his chest. "I don't either." Jessalyn clenches her fists, then wraps her arms tightly around herself, gazing up at him from beneath the screen of her lashes. "I never meant to hurt you. I thought that --" she glances away, embarrassed. "We needed each other, and... it wasn't a bad thing... was it?" He doesn't reach for her when she withdraws, still confused by her seemingly conflicting statements and struggling internally with separating the past from the present. "No, it wasn't a bad thing," he murmurs softly. "I just am not sure I understand what's going on here ... you said that you used me?" Jessalyn starts to shake as the guilt begins to twist her heart more painfully. "I was honest with you, Paul!" she insists desperately, her voice rising in pitch. "You knew how I felt -- you know that I care for you deeply. Please don't doubt that. Can you understand, though that -- that I wanted to forget him? I wanted you, for so many reasons, but I'm afraid that that reason has made it into a mistake." She bites her lip, unable to look at him. Paul takes Jessalyn's chin in his grasp, lifting her gaze to meet his. The shuttered expression is gone to be replaced with empathy. "No, no mistake Jessalyn. Last night was anything but a mistake." He smiles softly. "I just was hearing someone .... something that you were not saying," he reassures her. "It's okay, I understand and it's okay." More relieved than she wants to admit, Jessalyn goes to him and holds him tightly against her. "I'm not sure I deserve that," she mumbles, sighing with resignation. "I do love you. I'm so sorry... for everything. For not being the woman that everyone seems to need me to be." A warm chuckle reverberates against your ear. "You say the "S" word again, and I'll have to start smacking you around," he jokes lightly. "Don't bother with trying to be what you think we all want you to be, you'll find we just like you for being yourself in the end anyway." Jessalyn draws away just enough to smile weakly up into his eyes. "I guess I'm not sure who she is anymore," she murmurs softly, her fingers playing against the nape of his neck. "But you made me feel real again. I think I'd forgotten what that ... was like," she says shyly. Paul's smile deepens at that and a slight blush crosses his cheekbones. "My pleasure," he intones gravely, letting you know that he means that both literally and figuratively. The hands holding at your back slide around to rest lightly on your hips. Jessalyn's shy smile turns sultry as she notices the blush and feels his hands move to her slim hips. She brushes her body against his a little harder, and a bit suggestively. "Mine too," she says in a voice to match that look, and her mouth moves to find the angle of his jaw. Paul chuckles and dodges her mouth with a grin. "Damn woman, you -are- dangerous!" he growls, but a hint of arousal is evident in his voice. Jessalyn raises her brows, mildly surprised. "Oh, is that so? And here I was under the impression that everyone thinks of me as such a sweet, innocent thing." She grins at him, not letting him evade her easily, and presses a kiss to the hollow of his throat. The pulse there races beneath your lips and Paul blinks in surprise, his hands catching against Jessalyn's upper arms, but not pushing her away. "If that's true, then you've got them all bamboozled," he murmurs unsteadily. "Or maybe I'm just the lucky one." Jessalyn's lips travel up his throat to his chin, then hover just beneath his mouth. "Luck?" she whispers, "I figured I'd just cursed you with revealing my true identity." Swallowing hard, Paul tries to remove his chin from her nibbling lips. "Ah, I'm a scientist," he mumbles, "I don't believe in curses and charms ... all that superstitious stuff." Undaunted, Jessa stands up on her very tiptoes so that her mouth can reach the tender spot behind his ear. "I'll make you believe," she offers, her lips and her breath warm on his skin. Paul literally jolts as her lips make it there. His grip on her arms tightens and he tries to growl threateningly, "Now young lady, don't make me turn this planet around or you'll be in big trouble!" Jessalyn's eyes gleam. "I think that's exactly what you want to do," she coos, nipping at his chin. Paul ducks his head and in an attempt to defuse the rapidly igniting fuse growls, "Alright, now you're in for it," and he ducks down rapidly, coming up low and forward to catch Jessalyn by the waist and swing her up in a fireman's carry, and he starts for the water. "I think you need a little cooling off," he growls. Jessalyn squeals with surprise. "Paul! You wouldn't --" she gasps out as she clings to his neck, squirming to get free. Paul pauses at the edge of the water, holding onto her squirming form tightly. He gives her a choice. "Are you going to behave yourself and stop tempting me outrageously, or do I have to douse your fire?" Jessalyn grins wickedly, and scoffs, "-My- fire, hmm? I think we know who it is who can't seem to resist -me-!" And, taking advantage of her new position, she tilts her head and catches his earlobe between her teeth, still giggling. "Oh, so you like it rough, eh?" he snarls at her, "well don't say I didn't warn you," and with that he grabs you up and swings you around, dropping you unceremoniously into the water. Jessalyn saw it coming of course. She falls with a splash into the surf, and flounders around for a bit, spitting saltwater from her mouth, and then glaring up at Paul. "Fine!" She pauses only briefly before lunging ahead and grabbing him around the knees, pulling him hard off-balance. With a very unmasculine squeal, Paul goes down with a loud splash in front of Jessalyn. He goes under and come up sputtering. Shaking the water from his hair he glares at her playfully. "Alright, no more Mr. Nice Corellian," he warns her and then feinting to the left he whirls around to the right, grabs a handful of sand and the collar of her shirt in one move and tosses the sand down the front of her shirt with a loud whoop. Jessalyn gapes at him in shock. "Oh! Mature, Dr. Nighman!" She scowls at him, not deigning to reciprocate such behavior, and untucks her shirt to try and shake the wet sand out from beneath it. It clings to her skin, of course, and she frowns more deeply. "Gee, they're not going to look at us funny when we go back." Paul chuckles good-naturedly. "Hey, what can I say, a desperate man will stoop to desperate measures." He then takes in both of their appearances and laughs again. "Ah, they'll still be asleep ... we'll take showers. Nobody need ever know." He grins at Jessa and offers her his hand. Jessalyn smiles at him hesitantly, lifting her hand to place into his. "Right," she says, repeating him. "No one ever need know." She looks down suddenly, then clambers clumsily to her feet, pulling him up with her. She takes one step, and groans as her boots squish. The boots make a bizarre squelching noise, water pushing up and out with her step. Paul does his best not to snigger, but it comes out and then grows into a chuckle and then a full fledged laugh. "Here," he manages to say between guffaws and he picks her up gallantly and carries her over to the blanket. "Now you have a choice, I can carry you home, or we'll shake the water out of your boots and use the blanket to dry your feet, whaddya say?" Laughter gone, Jessa rests her head against his shoulder. "If it weren't such a far way to go, I'd let you carry me, love," she murmurs, and ponders the hidden meanings behind her words. "But I can't be that selfish." Paul's eyes gleam with humor. "Oh so first I'm a liar, then I'm immature, and now you're saying I'm not tough enough?" He squats down awkwardly, not letting her go and then manages to stand again, thrusting the blanket at her. "Okay, your job is to carry this," he says and starts to head up the beach with you still held firmly in his arms. Jessalyn smiles at the humor, but her heart isn't really in it. She folds the blanket under one arm and links her fingers behind his neck as he carries her off. "I didn't mean it like -that-," she chides gently, and buries her face in his hair. "I know," he replies lightly, a mischievous grin on his face. It is more than evident that he is teasing you deliberately, in an attempt to keep your sprits up. "But I'm a Corellian, and I have a reputation to protect." Jessalyn smirks to herself, her voice going wry. "Oh, that explains last night, then," she drawls in a good attempt at showing off her own Corellian heritage. "I'll have to keep that in mind from now on." Paul sighs softly, "Well," he admits, "if I were a true Corellian, I would boast of my conquest. Since I'm not, I guess I'll just have to treasure the memory and carry it to my grave," he adds warmly. Then he grins again. "Did you just hear that? Damn but I'm good!" Jessalyn finally bubbles over with mirth, and laughs. "The only reason you'll carry it to your grave, Paul Nighman, is to save your own hide!" She sighs softly and closes her eyes, resting her cheek against his shoulder. Later: After returning to the Barracks, Jessalyn and then Paul go into the Refresher to clean up, but when Paul comes out, he finds Jessalyn gone. That worries him some and he heads out to look for her. He doesn't know if there is anything wrong, but knowing J essalyn, there is a good chance that there is. He figures he has a better chance of finding her if he just stays in one place, so he finds himself an outdoor cafe with a good central location and seats himself there and orders some breakfast, keeping a w atchful eye out for Jessalyn. He reasons that she probably just doesn't want to deal with saying good-bye to him, but is miffed that she would not say good-bye to Shenner. So, he waits and watches, not realizing that he is being watched himself. Sitting at a small outdoor table is a lanky Corellian. His hair is freshly washed and still a little wet. He sips a cup of coffee idly, awaiting a more substantial breakfast. He doesn't look very well rested, but he does look oddly robust at the same time. He is merely taking in the view, his eyes restlessly scanning the crowds as if looking for someone, and his thoughts definitely somewhere else. Ariana arrives in her usual noiseless, unassuming way, taking the table next to the lanky Corellian and ordering for breakfast something simple, like Corellian coffee and bread. She looks both rested and alert. Paul's eyes drift over to the woman and narrow slightly, as if he recognizes her from someplace, but isn't quite sure. He reaches into a satchel hanging off the back of his chair and pulls out, of all things, a book. It looks rather old, and he opens it carefully. Pulling out, again of all things, a pair of antique glasses, he slips them on and starts to read. You get the feeling though that his heart isn't into it ... or that he is distracted, because he keeps stopping to look up and around intently. Finally his breakfast arrives and he closes the book with a grateful sigh, removing and pocketing the glasses. A sardonic smile creases Ariana's features and is echoed in the slight amusement of her flinty eyes. As a background observer from the previous night's escapades in the restaurant, she too looks about as if in expectation of someone else appearing. She chuckles quietly, shaking her head, and in the corner of her eye watches the book and its reader. Paul attacks the food with gusto. After continuing to search the crowds again, he seems to have some kind of personal realization. He stops eating for a moment and thinks hard, cocking his head to one side. Finally his expression clears some, and although he doesn't look happy with whatever conclusion he has reached, he does seem to be resigned to accept it. He then continues with his meal. When a waiter comes by Paul waves him over for another cup of coffee and then with a chuckle, merely relieves the waiter of the his entire pot, setting it on the table wryly. "Tatooine." Ariana says the planet's name softly, yet perhaps loudly enough to be heard by. "I believe that's where it was." She resumes eating her simple repast, most of her culinary enthusiasm banked in the coffee she's drinking. At the voicing of the planet's name, Paul jolts in surprise, looking around. He looks around but the only person who is near enough for him to hear is the woman at the next table. He looks puzzled and also a little wary. "I beg your pardon, but are you talking to me?" he queries. Ariana lifts her shoulders and lowers them in a noncommittal shrug, offering rather than an answer to his question, "I've not seen the major this morning." A very slight blush touches the Corellian's cheekbones or maybe it's just the coffee kicking in, and in a tone that is trying to say, I-haven't-the-faintest-idea-what-you-are-talking-about, he replies, "Ah, excuse me, the major? I thought you said something about Tatooine?" At this Ariana does not reply at all, using the silence and respite in the conversation to stir her coffee and spread berry paste on her toasted bread. She seems utterly at ease, though, like him, she looks around constantly. Paul blinks at the woman, his expression becoming more puzzled and more suspicious now. He sits back himself and decides to studiously ignore the woman. He finishes up his meal and his coffee and signals a waiter that he is ready for his check. A different sort of smile crosses Ariana's delicate features; setting down her coffee mug she comments quietly, "Mos Eisley, I would even venture to say." Paul pulls out a handful of credits and places them with the check and then rises. He lifts the satchel and swings it over his torso and then slips on a leather jacket and turns to leave. After two steps, he turns around again and walks directly over to the blonde woman, his features impassive. "Madam, I think you'll find that if you wish to have a conversation, it pays to be both direct and clear." and with that he turns again to leave. Rising as well, graceful and effortless, Ariana replies, "My apologies. I was thinking aloud. At least that time. But I'm certain we've seen each other before. On Tatooine." Her hand raises to dab with a napkin at her lips, removing a crumb that lingered there. Paul frowns, looking at the woman carefully, trying to place her features, but coming up blank. "I'm sorry," he replies carefully, "I don't think I've met you before." He considers the woman in front of him and then suddenly prays she wasn't one of the women in that bar that had a proposition for him .... she certainly didn't -look- the type, but looks can be deceiving. "But of course, I could be mistaken," he adds uncertainly, trying to work his mind back to that rather traumatic evening and sifts through the debris of memories there. Ariana shifts her position slightly and looks up at the much-taller Corellian. Though her expression is impassive, her eyes convey flickers of several emotions, eventually settling upon a distant curiosity. "It could be my mistake. There are a lot of Corellians on Tatooine, I realize...especially at Mos Eisley." The tone of her voice, however, does not indicate any uncertainties. Paul shifts a little uncomfortably. "Ah, well yes there are, and the last time I was there I was some other Corellian other than myself, so to an extent if you -had- met me, well you might as well consider yourself talking to a completely different man." He shifts again and begins to turn to leave, as if the conversation was beginning to make him itch. "Ah, well sorry to have interrupted your meal," he murmurs in farewell. Ariana snaps her fingers, rather abruptly, and exclaims, "The cantina. I remember now." Her eyes narrow, and she adds softly, "And I understand why you don't." The flush that merely touched Paul's features before grows bold, making it's presence known. "Ah, well, yes," he mumbles low, his voice growing rumbly. His eyes dart around, as if hoping for a distraction in which to make his escape. He looks back down at the woman and tentatively asks, "Ah, you didn't, I mean you weren't the one of the ones who ..." but then he decides that this is a pointless question and let's it die on his lips. The one thing that stands out most vividly in Ariana's thoughts is the bevy of women throwing themselves at Paul before he left the cantina. His meaning is not in any way lost on her, and her expression darkens. "Why would I have been?" she inquires frostily. Paul takes a casual step backward. "Ah, I didn't think you were, but ah, my memory is vague at best about certain parts of that evening, and if I had for any, ah, reason had offended you then, well I would be obligated to apologize." He looks both relieved at his mistake and regretful that he had even brought it up in the first place. Ariana places on the table enough credits to pay for her small breakfast, studies the Corellian up and down, and says snappishly, "Don't bother. I'm not as easily impressed as the major is, and I'm not in need of an apology from you. Sir." Paul flashes red for a moment and this time it's a reaction of anger. However, in a few seconds it is gone and then his expression goes blank and cold. He nods shortly. "Well, how delightful for you," he releases on a clipped tone, and turning around, he starts to leave, only to stop again and add, "And in terms of the major, I suggest you don't comment on things that you don't understand," and he whirls away again. A long pause follows, then Ariana tells Paul's turned back, "My apologies. But you know...someone like you who is having a guarded existence might consider being less open about his vulnerabilities." Then *she* turns to leave. Paul doesn't respond to her final insult, forcibly keeping his anger in check. He berates himself for being a fool, and worst of all, for proving her right. A month ago he wouldn't have bat an eye at her words, but now, with all of these new choices, his emotions are close to the surface. He strides on, back to the barracks, and struggles with formulating a different approach, his old habits and manners no longer effective with the new choices in his life. Day After, The